When Rarity Becomes Familar
by SaintsAndSupes
Summary: The job is getting to Connor and it's wearing him down. Murphy will always be there for his brother, just like Connor is always there for him.


He'd left the bar early, and without Murphy. Both very rare for Connor to do, but anymore, the job plagued his thoughts. It wore him down, what once was a calling now felt a burden. A weight, it seemed, upon his shoulders, and it was too much for him to bear.

Especially nights where he slept alone, nights where Murphy didn't share his bed. That too was a rarity. Murphy was always there to reassure him, and he did the same for his younger twin. He knew Murphy felt the same some days, but anymore it was enough to eat Connor alive.

That's exactly what it had started to do and Murphy took notice to it too. The darkened bags under his eyes, he didn't smile as much, didn't laugh, and his restless sleeping. The nightmares they too often shared, he knew Connor was having alone, and it hurt him.

So when Connor has left the bar that night, his drink hardly touched, with his eyes darkened with raw emotion, Murphy waited to follow. Connor would need the space, but only for a small while. Then he would need Murphy in various ways, but mostly, as an anchor. Someone to say "I am here, and you are ok." He would need the familiarity of Murphy, the certainty that was his brother, the undying fact that they would always just be.

He walked back from McGinty's and just tried to breathe. The bar had been overwhelming for some reason, the walls were going to close in on him if he hadn't left, so he felt. While the bars noise and atmosphere normally was comforting, tonight it was the very opposite.

He almost walked right past the apartment building, he was so absorbed in his thoughts, and he looked at it for a second. Illegal loft housing, cheap and un-charming, but it was home. He knew he and Murph could do so much better, could have so much better, but he was happy, so long as his brother was.

He went inside and hung his rosary on the nail that was in the wall. His rosary used to bring comfort, and like everything else now, it was a weight and burden to him. He ran his hands over his face slowly, letting them rest there for a minute. When he drew in a deep breath to sigh, it was ragged and tired. Weary and beaten. He exhaled slowly and fought the damn ache in his chest, that now all too familiar tightening in his throat.

If he attempted to sleep now he knew the nightmares would consume him, and Murphy was usually the one to draw him out of that void. But he'd left Murph at the bar, and at that thought, he felt immensely guilty. But he didn't want to burden his brother with this either, he knew Murph would be pissed, probably call him selfish, but he wouldn't place this on him.

He'd removed his shirt and tossed it aside carelessly. He sat on the bed before finally laying down and closing his eyes. No intention of sleeping, but somehow he felt he could block out the world this way.

The flashes, the images broke through him anyway, and left him without breath. Every kill, every prayer, every penny placed, every single thing. Every death caused at their hands, in the name of God. He knew not to question his faith, but he did, and hard.

The bible came to mind, the book of Matthew. Wherein Jesus is being crucified, taking upon every sin of mankind that had happened and would happen until his return, thus ending the earth and all man. In which the son of God, cried out to his father, "My God, My God why have you forsaken me?" But there was no answer from the Holy Father, the creator of all mankind and beast, for he was unable to look upon such sin.

Were they doing the right thing?

Never shall innocent blood be shed, yet the blood of the wicked shall flow like a river.

He kept his eyes closed, and felt the tears come from seemingly nowhere as he continued to think.

When I whet my flashing sword and my hand takes hold in judgment, I shall take vengeance on thine enemies and repay those that hate me.

He didn't hear the door open, didn't hear Murph come in.

Do not kill. Do not rape. Do not steal. These are principles which every man of every faith can embrace.

These are not polite suggestions, these are codes of behavior, and those of you that ignore them will pay the dearest cost.

There are varying degrees of evil. We urge you lesser forms of filth, not to push the bounds and cross over, in to true corruption, into our domain.

Had Murphy been right? Were they truly corrupted? Or did they do the work of God, their savior?

The shift of weight on the bed brought him out of his reverie.

"Yer fuckin' letting it get to ye aren' ye?" Came Murphy's voice, full of sympathy and pain the echoed his. He opened his eyes and met his brothers. He wasn't aware he'd been shaking, and still was. "Oh shit Con, mo dheartháir, ye can' do this." Murphy shed his jacket and slid into the bed next to the older twin, putting his arms around him and drawing him close as humanly possible.

Murphy hated when Connor got like this, it was rare but when he did it broke Murph's heart. He knew Connor would carry the weight for both of them, and he's take the responsibility for it, but inevitably it crushed him sooner or later.

Connor would usually be embarrassed by this raw display of emotion, but it was too much.

"Murph…" Connor's voice cracked, and was thick with unreleased emotion.

"Damn it." Murphy said pressing his lips to Connors softly. He pulled away, " 'm righ' here 'm not goin' anywhere don' ye worry. Yer alrigh' I got ye, jus' like ye always have me. I 'ave got ye Connor an' 'm not goin' ta let ye go."

There was the reassurance he knew Murphy was always going to give. Connor nodded as Murph rested his forehead on his. He closed his eyes again, this time no images, no flashes to haunt him. He brought a hand around to rest on the back of Murphys neck.

His brothers eyes bore into his bloodshot tear filled ones.

"There ye are, yer alrigh'." Murphy listened as his brothers breathing steadied, as he ran his hand up and down his arm. Mainly over the cross there, another thing they shared. Connor still said nothing, just basked in the wonder that was his brother.

So when the next kiss became a little needier, when the next stroke down Connor's arm was a we bit rougher, and when the tattooed hand saying AEQUITAS wrapped itself in Connor's hair.

He knew he wouldn't be alone tonight.


End file.
